


revelation 22:13

by lonesome



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Hannibal, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 18:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3218714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonesome/pseuds/lonesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alphas are nearly unheard of. Every single recorded case has proved them to be murderers. The most heinous, brutal crimes are committed by alphas. And if one lone alpha is bad, an alpha who has bonded with an omega is truly awful.</p><p>aka, alpha!hannibal and omega!will have a difference in opinions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the beginning and the end

It isn’t ideal for either of them, really. Less ideal for Will, but still.  
  
The majority of the population is betas. A little less than a third is made up of omegas, and they are often stuck between being coddled and being discriminated against. There are hate crimes. It’s declined over the years but it is still there.  
  
Alphas are nearly unheard of. Every single recorded case has proved them to be murderers. The most heinous, brutal crimes are committed by alphas. Not all of them are  _psychopaths_ , but they all kill.

That’s how Will Graham knew the Chesapeake Ripper was an alpha. “Not every killer is an alpha,” an agent argues. Will just points at the man impaled in multiple places with tools from his own shed, offered as if it were the statue of a martyr. There is a beta officer vomiting just outside of the crime scene. “Not every killer  _kills_  like this.”  
  
Will is hiding his status. That is why he is allowed on crime scenes. Jack knows—no one else. He trusts him with his secret, even if Jack does push him far—some might say too far, as Lecter has said repeatedly. Will prefers it to being treated as if he can’t handle himself at all. Jack does look at Will like he’s wondering if he’s broken him, and then he’ll tell him to go home, get some rest, take better goddamn care of yourself. He hasn’t pulled him from cases, though, and Will is glad for that.

Gender prejudice is less rampant now but if anyone from up high heard about his gender, he’d immediately be out of a job. No one would allow an omega to be exposed repeatedly to violent, brutal crime scenes, especially those of alphas. The world tries largely to keep them separated. General consensus says that this is for the best. Alphas are extremely protective of their omegas, once they choose them, and things turn ugly very fast. They are built stronger and faster, to tear apart. Nature loves monsters.  
  
People wear patches so that their scent is hidden. Everyone smells like a beta. Alphas are allowed these patches too, it is not as if they are all rounded up in concentration camps the second they present. There are intensive schools, therapies, medications, research groups all dedicated to helping the gender control their biology. For all the years these have been in place, they have never had any success in making sure that an alpha never kills. It’s believed that they  _reduce_  the death toll, but every alpha is eventually convicted of some form of murder. 

James Thatcher, 32. He peeled the faces off of every victim before he killed them. He was finally found after he had chosen an omega--who did not know who he was--and murdered his entire family. His beta wife, shot in the stomach. His beta son, shot when he returned home from school. 

Laura Macken, 28. Each of her victims were beat to death with various things in their homes. She wasn't particularly careful with DNA. Two officers were killed attempting to make an arrest, and another was injured before they finally brought her in. 

It’s not that alphas draw a raw deal from birth, necessarily. They all like killing. It’s in their nature. They do not just kill once, they kill repeatedly. They are serial killers, and they are very good at hiding. Survival is one of the things they know best.   
  
Will Graham is thinking about an alpha that hides in plain sight while sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. They have been meeting at 7:30pm and he is a little early; he’s agitated. He has been feeling awful for about a week now. He is fidgeting with his patch. Will thinks about this alpha that quite literally _hunts_ \--kills those he labels pigs, cuts their organs from them, and no one can see who he is. Will Graham thinks about how this patch keeps everyone from seeing that he is an omega, keeps his scent down to a subtle beta musk. He understands the loneliness of hiding. As soon as that thought enters his head he chides himself. It probably qualifies as projection, and it’s  _definitely_  unhelpful. He hides for other reasons anyway, namely that the way he thinks is not conducive to _good company_.  
  
Hannibal Lecter opens the door right at 7:30, completely punctual. Will looks up from the patch on his wrist to see the older man smile. It’s small but it’s genuine. Will returns it.  
  
They talk about the case for a few minutes. Will’s mood is getting darker, he’s getting more uneasy, and so he is picking around the room. Hannibal is watching him with amusement, from his desk which is covered in sketches. Will thinks his patients today must have been dull, since there are so many papers stacked there.   
  
“Can I ask what is troubling you?”  
  
“Do I look troubled?”  
  
“Yes.” Lecter’s answer is immediate. Will laughs.  
  
“It’s nothing.”  
  
“Ah. So it is not something you wish to talk about.” Will looks at him to see if he’s disappointed, or offended. Hannibal is, as always, hard to read. He thinks maybe that’s disappointment there. Hannibal has told him countless times that he finds his mind interesting, and Will’s response is to tell the doctor he has morbid  _interests_.   
  
“I’m just not feeling well.” He softens a little, submissively—and god damn it, why does that always happen with Lecter—then adds, “I think I’m coming down with something.” Hannibal looks thoughtful for a moment.  
  
“If you would like, I could make you tea.” Will says that would be nice. Hannibal stands to start the brew in the corner, where the large cabinet of expensive wines are, and Will looks through the drawings on his desk. It hits him hard, then, he feels his head pound suddenly and his skin burns. He swallows thickly, closes his eyes and tries to ignore the odd sickness taking him over. It’s a deep inner ache, a feeling of emptiness starting to hollow out his insides. He brings his hand to his forehead and thinks,  _what the fuck_.  
  
That is when things go from bad to awful.  
  
The patch is loose on his wrist from his fidgeting with it earlier. He rubs his hand down his face. The patch falls off. Will does not notice right away, his eyes are closed tight and he’s leaning against the desk. Hannibal  _does_  notice right away. He drops the teacup in his hand. It shatters. There is an overpowering scent that hits him over the head.

Will Graham is an _omega_. Prior to this information, Hannibal had already thought of the profiler as his. He is possessive of his things, and he found that he could not get enough of the way Will’s mind worked. He had been visiting him at his home every now and then to feed him, to further integrate himself into Will’s life. And now, Will Graham is an omega. **_His_**  omega. In  _heat_.  
  
Lecter is aware now that with his very presence in Will’s life, he has set the profiler tumbling into his biological instincts. Only alphas can trigger a heat in an omega. This will be Will’s first. He can feel himself already losing control in response to the scent, which smells warm and earthy and almost floral, like honeysuckle and jasmine with a slight metallic bite undercoating it. Blood on the flower petals. His own body is itching now, his muscles are tensing—the spice of his own alpha scent would be coming off in waves to lure the omega, to get him drunk on pheromones, if his own patch were not in place.   
  
Lecter keeps it on as he stalks towards the omega, who has his back turned and is staring at the pictures.  
  
Will pushes to the next picture and his mouth goes dry. It’s the woundman. It’s his face.  
  
In that same second a hand grabs hold of his throat from behind, and a hard body fits against his so that they are both leaning against the desk. Will has to brace himself with his hands so he is not pushed all the way forward.   
  
“Oh god,” he chokes. Lecter’s other hand removes his patch from his wrist, and the scent of alpha—dark, red spice, tangy, acidic, addictive—engulfs him.   
  
The doctor’s nose is pressing against the scent glands in Will’s neck. Hannibal audibly inhales, and there’s a low growl that the profiler can feel more than hear against him. His own mouth is open and he’s drinking in the new scent. His body is telling him to submit, to appease.   
  
“You’re an alpha.” The growl is louder in response, and then teeth are pressing lightly against his neck, right were a bonding mark would go. They are not biting down but Will swallows hard, resists the urge to present his neck. “You’re the Ripper.”  
  
The alpha pushes further into Will from behind, rubs against him. He feels Lecter’s erection and tries very hard not to whine like a needy bitch. He fails, but at least it comes out quietly. The picture of the woundman is staring up at both of them as the alpha has them practically bent over the desk. “It seems we are both hiding things from each other,” he responds right against Will’s skin. The sound of his voice is darker now and no longer masked. The accent is thicker, clearly affected.  
  
“Oh, you motherfuck,” Will starts before the growling is louder, reverberating through his entire body. He bends himself lower in response, he can’t help it. He has never experienced a heat before and it is overwhelming. Everything in him screams to submit. He closes his eyes tightly. He thinks that he must be the worst FBI agent in history.  
  
“I must confess that I have been rather obsessed with you since we met. You are the only one able to see into each crime scene with clarity. Your mind is quite beautiful, and the way you suffer for it. If it offers you any solace, I had decided that you would be mine before I knew of your gender.” Hannibal’s free hand which is not holding him by his neck traces paths lightly along Will’s abdomen. He’s looking down at the woundman sketch which, instead of Jeremy Olmstead, stars his favorite profiler. He seems rather pleased. Will thinks he can hear him smiling. He can definitely feel it at his neck.  
  
“—And now, to find that you are an omega.”  
  
“Fuck you.” He tries to twist out of the grip but he’s trapped against the fucking desk, and Hannibal’s hand on his throat tightens.  
  
“Alphas and omegas are meant to pair, Will. The alpha takes care of the omega endlessly, as the omega does the alpha. A bond completes both. They are inseparable. ”   
  
Hannibal rubs against him longer, with more force, and even with all the clothes between them Will realizes that he’s slick. The way he touches him is worshipful and unyielding. He could not escape even if the pheromones weren’t getting him drunk.  
  
A hand is tugging knowingly at his belt, undoes his zipper before it grips him through his underwear. Precum has soaked through the fabric.   
  
“Alpha and omega. The first and the last. The beginning and the end,” Lecter coos into his ear. Will whines loudly, unable to swallow it down.   
  
Will is trying hard not to react but his body is torn between bucking into the hand and to push back against the alpha cock pressed against him. Lecter’s hand dips under the waistband of his boxers and then is stroking him, and the omega groans. There is a timed thrust, clothed hips grinding against his, to match the slow pulls. His hands scramble for their purchase against the desk as he is pushed further down.  
  
“I’m going to turn you in,” he grits out, his voice wavering and embarrassingly strained.  
  
“I’ll never let you go.” Hannibal’s hand leaves Will’s dick and starts to tug the omega’s pants and boxers down. “If anyone tries to separate us, I’ll kill them.”  
  
“What about me? You’ll kill me too?” Lecter’s fingers find his hole and they circle it. He’s already dripping with slick. Will is internally at war as he bites back a whine. Instead he promises, “I’m going to shoot you.”  
  
“I’d hope you’d at least try.” Two fingers push in and Will gasps. The alpha prepares him roughly, quickly losing his last shreds of self-control to his own rut. “Would it feel righteous to kill me, Will? We are more alike than you want to admit.”  
  
“No we’re not.” Will does not want to admit that. He pushes back into the alpha’s fingers for more, lets out a needy whimper that he also does not want to admit to. Will is not a killer in the same way Hannibal is, but he can understand murder, he can understand Hannibal. He  _sees_.  
  
“You treat your intellect as if it were a burden. But I can help you bear it.”  
  
The fingers retreat and then he hears a zipper behind him. Will is pressed all the way down on the desk and he pushes his ass back despite himself. Legs nudge his own apart. Desire is taking them both over, in rut and heat. It's made them into wolves. They can’t even wait to fully undress themselves. Their resolve vaporizes together.  
  
Will feels the swollen tip of the alpha’s cock against his hole. Hannibal fucks into him with one rough, hard thrust. Will is slammed forward into the desk, and the desk moves. The omega bites into his fist and screams.  
  
Lecter thrusts hard and deep each time. The throb, the pressure, the pain and the feeling of being so full all make each brush against his prostate shattering. Will clamps his teeth into his hand as his alpha’s cock splits him open again and again. The hand is still on his neck, holding him down while the other braces them against the desk. Hannibal feeds on every tremble, every whine, every moan, and is not merciful. The pace is making them both unravel. Hannibal’s teeth are at Will’s ear. The omega does not realize that he’s begging until he hears the alpha praise him,  _good boy_ ,  _my beautiful omega_.  
  
At some point tears drip from his eyes. Will’s mouth falls open with half-formed prayers. His hand and sleeve are not doing much to muffle his cries. The woundman drawing is beneath them, his dick sinfully hard and rubbing against it with every thrust, leaking on the paper. It's so much that it hurts. The sketches not trapped under Will fall to the floor and neither of them care.  
  
They are both falling apart and Will Graham realizes that this is going to be the end of him. He will never be able to escape Lecter. They will never escape each other. Hannibal licks a tear from his cheek almost tenderly and says, “If anyone even smells you, I will tear out their lungs as they breathe.” Then he grinds direct and harsh against that ball of nerves deep inside.  
  
Will comes first, gasping, whining loudly, muscles spasming around his alpha’s growing knot. He spills onto the desk. Lecter continues to fuck him through the orgasm and has the omega writhing under him from oversensitivity.  
  
It gets harder to pull out as the knot swells. The hand on Will’s neck leaves to grab onto the desk for leverage. His pace falters, ebbs into something even more urgent as he tries to bury himself as deeply in his omega as possible.  
  
He bites down on Will’s neck in the same second that his knot seals them together. The omega cries out and tilts to give better access at the same time. Hannibal comes hot inside him, pulsing, and Will Graham orgasms for a second time. The boundaries between them, body, mind, and soul, are now thoroughly scorched and the bond takes form physiologically. They are both panting. Will is a shaking mess. The alpha drapes over him protectively as he comes down, a low growl constant in his chest.  
  
Will lays limp and exhausted on the desk with his alpha on top of him. He turns his head and Hannibal catches his face with both of his hands, pulls him up into a long, languid kiss. Will tastes his own blood in the alpha’s mouth.  
  
They’re stuck like this for a while. Hannibal lifts his omega up in his arms—ignoring protesting whines—and relocates them on the chaise, holding Will to his chest. In the heavy fog of post-coital he is clear only in that this trembling bundle is  _his_  and nothing is going to make them part. Will falls asleep, cradled tight and surrounded by his alpha's scent.  
  
He wakes up again and is not happy. They are still tied and laying as they were before.  
  
“You fed them to me.” Lecter looks at him all too proudly.  
  
“You want to discuss this in your current state?” He’s talking about about his knot still plugging the omega’s hole. Will glares.  
  
“I didn’t want this.”  
  
“No, perhaps not.” The alpha cards a hand through brown curls and looks at him openly with admiration, seeing no need to hide anymore. “But we are bonded now. It will be painful for both of us, if we were to separate.” Blue eyes look into maroon and track a spark of light as it is swallowed up by the void. He feels like he’s been eaten alive. Will knows Hannibal is right; they would need each other’s scents. Bonds between alphas and omegas are strongly rooted, mentally and biologically.  The carnage of an alpha denied his omega is not pretty. The last instance was 1988. There’s a memorial service held every year. The anniversary is always mentioned on the news.  
  
“How many people will die if I turn you in?”  
  
“A few. It would depend on how hard they try to keep you from me.”  
  
“You’re not entitled to me.” Arguing that is pointless but Will insists it for himself.  
  
“I will not hurt you. But I will hurt everyone else.”  
  
“You’ll never let me go.” It’s a question, though it doesn’t sound like one. Maybe it really isn’t. They both know the answer. Hannibal wonders if Will just wants him to say it again. He runs his thumb down the omega’s cheek, brushes the stubbled jaw. He is a monster among men. He had not thought he would find an omega. For it to be Will is poetic and perfect. Hannibal lets his hand drop to trace the bonding mark, still red and puffy on his omega’s neck.  
  
“No, I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [kudos are nice. comments are specifically the best. if you want, give me some feedback tytyty.
> 
> i am thinking about doing some kind of continuation, and so i may add chapters. i've liked the idea of using the greek/biblical roots of the terms alpha and omega for a while, and wanted to do something to play with the bond being fatalistic/inescapable/infinite. i came across a prompt on the kinkmeme that gave the stipulations of alphas being extremely rare and always serial killers, as well as that only they can trigger omega heats, and thought it worked well with the AO concept i had going. so thank you, original prompter 
> 
> the next part if i do one will probably be something like: Will turns Hannibal in, or attempts to. The headlines on tattlecrime & everywhere read: Millions Dead as One Narcissistic Crybaby Alpha Throws a Fit
> 
> also [a picture](http://i.imgur.com/eAWXjXY.png?1) (sort of sfw) of this....bc i drew it.....idk why....also i would like to apologize to Everyone Everywhere, i am sorry, im terrible, ims o sorry]


	2. infinity tear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all good things come to an end. all bad things continue to get worse.

Because only an alpha can trigger an omega heat, there is little known about them. Only a few omegas experience a heat in their lifetime. Much of an omega’s biology and nature may still remain hidden, locked away by the fact that rarely are they paired with alphas. Will Graham could be done with his heat now, or it could last for ten days. He doubts he is lucky enough for it to be over already.

They’re conscious enough to relocate. Once he’s dressed, Will’s hands go straight for his pants pocket. He does not find his cell phone there, and he glares at Hannibal. They stare for a second nonverbally, Hannibal maintaining the eye contact with no sign of a break anytime soon. He is unwavering in his decision to cut Will off from communication for now—no outsiders will come between him and his omega’s heat. Will realizes he has no say in this, and still tests a second longer, before he looks away and clenches his jaw.

The car ride is horribly silent. Shostakovich is on the radio: “Piano Trio No. 2 in E-Minor Op. 67.” Will reaches out to tune to an oldies channel. He finds an Elvis Presley song, “Devil in Disguise,” and once it gets to the lines ‘you fooled me with your kisses’ he switches it back to Shostakovich. They listen to classical music for the rest of the way to Hannibal’s house.

“This is unsustainable,” Will says before he even crosses fully into Hannibal’s house.

“A bond between an alpha and omega is eternal. There is nothing that can break it.”

It’s really the look Hannibal is giving him that shocks Will, more than anything. It is cool certainty. It says that Rome will burn to the ground. It holds violent within the dark void of Hannibal Lecter’s eyes, which are almost always unreadable. Will wonders if this is what his victims see—the spark of rage at an offense, as if in this instance it would be **_rude_** for anyone to try and separate him from his omega. Or maybe this look is one unique to this situation, unique to the emotion he sparks in Hannibal.

“No, not—ah—not _romantically_. Legally. I am not going to let you get away with what you’ve done. This will end with you in jail.”

Through the moment of hesitation, Lecter had started to walk towards him. It felt a little like the calm of a fox walking towards a trapped rabbit. He reaches out to touch the bite mark on Will’s neck, which will scar. The omega goes rigid. It stings a little still.

“—But you feel the bond.” Will tries not answering, but the resulting silence accompanied by the alpha stroking along the mark eventually breaks him.

“Yes.”

“And you will still turn me in.”

“Yes.”

“Knowing the separation will be just as painful to you.”

“Yes.”

Lecter’s fingers trailed up thoughtfully, before spreading to wrap his hand around Will’s throat, just under his jaw. It makes it so the omega has to lift his chin. He fits his fingers over the start of bruises from the office, where he held him down.

“If I were to be caught, it is fitting that it be by you.” The alpha maneuvers them as he talks. Will doesn’t even know how it happens but he ends up with his back pressed against the front door, and Lecter pressed against him. Words press into his ear, a whisper. “I’m curious as to how you will do it. I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight anytime soon.”

Lecter’s scent floods his nose again, and he knows that must mean his pheromones will spike as well. The smell of the alpha is, at this point, intoxicating. Argument is starting to get harder; all he wants now is to bury his nose into the other man’s throat, to get as close to that scent as possible.

“You have to take a piss sometime,” Will manages despite being out-of-breath now. Lecter’s laugh is silent, but felt as a smile when he starts to kiss up his jawline, the shell of his ear.

“Mmm—Are you asking me to tie you to the bed post?”

“Fuck you,” Will groans before the sound is entirely swallowed up by Hannibal’s mouth on his. There is slow, dry thrusting from both of them as they push into each other’s mouths. At this point Will hates himself for pushing into Hannibal, for kissing back the hardest of the two.

Hannibal unbuttons his shirt so that he can kiss down his collarbone and run his hands down the omega’s stomach. Will is not about to leave Hannibal fully clothed, like he was in his office. He is cruel with the buttons on Lecter’s shirt, wanting to rend and tear.

They don’t make it upstairs this first time. Hannibal fucks him against the wall and growls throughout the entire thing, teeth right against Will’s neck. They don’t even get their clothes off completely; Will’s shirt hangs off of his shoulders and Lecter’s pants stay on.

It’s only about two hours before they attack each other again. They manage to find the bed this time. Will tries to make it hurt, he tries to make this a thing of teeth and nails so that he can cling onto his hatred. Hannibal only allows so much of that before he does, in fact, secure Will to the bed post using one of his ties.  

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” the omega grumbles as he tests the hold on his hands. The soft sleek fabric does not offer slack. It’s an elegant solution to his clawing—this one simple restraint cuts down a large range of body movement.

Hannibal is able to take his time now. His hands roam over his omega’s naked body, mapping out, memorizing. Will is both a foreign land and a mirror image, and he will know every inch. If this will end in him being arrested, as Will promises, he will make the best of now and ensure that there is no definable distinction between where one of them ends and the other begins.

The alpha’s hands find the straining erection between Will’s legs and tug, dry and slow. The other man arches his hips and grits his teeth. “Why do you fight it so hard, Will? They will crucify you as they will crucify me.”

Hannibal’s other hand finds the omega’s hole and pushes two fingers in. They move in and out at an agonizing pace, dragging over his prostate with every motion. Will curses under his breath. His dick is starting to leak. “You are as alone as I am. Is aggression easier for you? Might it be your natural state?”

“I’m not like you.” The words are hard to get out, breathless.

“No,” Hannibal agrees quickly. It really isn’t fair that he can talk this much. “But you are similar enough. You choose to torture yourself rather than accept the urges you face as the inspirations they are. You choose to deny yourself.” For emphasis on that point he retracts both his hands. One continues its previous journey of cataloging every scar and mark on Will’s skin, while the other moves to stroke his own erection.

“I can help you to see your true potential.” Lecter drapes himself over the omega and braces his arms on either side of him, lips to his ear. He presses himself against Will’s opening and thrusts in so slowly, while breathing out the words: “I can help you _unburden_ yourself.”

He moves in the omega with no particular rhythm, rather letting the feeling and the pleasure guide them. All boundaries dissolve. Will loses all concept of time, jerking against the restraints once he gets too close before Hannibal squeezes his cock to bide off orgasm. Will starts crying at some point from the oversensitivity and the alpha licks up each tear.

At this point Will feels the bond as it is and as it always will be; Hannibal will be the only one that fully sees him, and he will be the only one that fully sees Hannibal. They are not the same, but compliments. This is how it has been, is, will be.

It lasts forever, and it’s definitely worse this way. Slow and deep and everywhere, Will has trouble reminding himself why he wants to resist this, reminding himself that Hannibal would tear his mind apart and call that love. He would destroy him. It becomes clear that destruction is inevitable and he must sacrifice himself, as offering to the beast, so that the Ripper is stopped.

The alpha pushes orgasm after orgasm away from him and Will sobs. He continues moving inside him, repeatedly driving into the slick heat of his omega, long thrusts that push them both up against the sheets. Hannibal takes from him every sound he is capable of. He mouths over the red bitemark on his neck and leaves trailing touches everywhere. The tie digs into his skin with how much he’s writing, and it progressively gets tighter. The sounds in the room make it seem like he’s dying.

When finally Lecter lets him come, they do so together and the knot starts to swell. Will cries out louder than he has before, unable to cover his mouth, and despite himself he starts to chant, “ _thank you, thank you, thank you._ ” The alpha’s hands pet down his cheeks, his sides, rub through his hair, whispering things in a different language. It seems like poetry.

They lay tied together with Hannibal draped over him protectively. Will can feel him swelled inside him, still hot and throbbing, and between that and the weight on top of him he feels— ** _good_**. And then he feels guilty.

He tries to move and finds his hands still secured to the bedframe. Will doesn’t exactly intend it, but what comes out is a whine of, “ _Hannibal_.” It’s more pleading than he would like. The alpha looks contemplatively at him before deciding that in their current state the tie is not needed, and removes it. He chooses not to comment on the fact that Will had used his first name.

“You want time,” the agent starts, looking up at the ceiling rather than at Hannibal. “You’re devouring me now, while you have the chance.”

“When a predator sees their prey in the forest, do they not pounce?”

“I’m your prey?” This, as a conversation, should be cause for concern. It is actually quite unsettling for Will to be told now, so openly. Hannibal is watching him and tilts his head to the side, as if posing a question. As if he wants to uncase Will’s head and look directly into his skull.

“You are my match, as if by God’s design. But I am not blind to the difference in power dynamics, nor the unfair advantage I currently have over you.” He pets down Will’s stubbled jaw lovingly—so much so that it is offsetting and wrenches the omega’s blue eyes to the counteractive maroon ones.

“Do you think that— _time in the oven_ , will enforce the bond and change my mind?”

“I think that time in the oven will enforce the bond, yes. Whether it changes your mind or not remains to be seen. It will make any attempt at separation _messier_. Regardless of whether you change your mind, I will not.” That sentence holds the weight of promise. It holds death. Lecter says it softly, because he does not need a harsh tone to communicate either of those things. “I have hope that you may allow yourself freedom from the imposed morals set upon you.”

Will doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s thankful for now that they are not playing games. His own response is whispered, and it vibrates against Lecter’s fingers as they trace the lines of his throat. “You’re awfully confident.”

Hannibal Lecter makes good on his word, that he would not let Will Graham out of his sight. He is the stereotype of a possessive alpha—perhaps even worse, Will thinks, as the other man scent marks his clothes before handing them to him. It makes no sense, they don’t leave the house at all. Even Hannibal is somewhat surprised by his own compulsions now that his omega is so near.

He cooks them breakfast. Will looks at the meal—breakfast scramble—and laughs at the table. Hannibal tells him rudeness will not be tolerated, and that he must eat. Will tells Hannibal that he can go fuck himself. Hannibal finishes his meal, and then later fucks Will on the dinner table and wrings from him three orgasms right beside each other, to the point where it hurts. Will shouts loud enough that the neighbors might have heard.

They fall asleep together tangled up on the couch in his study. Hannibal tells Will as he drifts out of consciousness, as he plays with his dark curls, that he once had a sister whom he loved very much. He lost her, and when he tracked down those involved he ate them. Will asks if this is when he knew he was an alpha. Hannibal says no, that he had known before then.

Will feels calm. He feels loved, and that scares him. He is scared of what Hannibal sees in him. He is scared of the darkness he can no longer ignore in himself.

It happens on the third night. Hannibal takes a shower after he thinks Will has gone to sleep. The agent is quiet as he goes downstairs, and begins to look for his things. His clothes are folded in the laundry room. His firearm is there, the clip removed. It takes some searching but he finds _that_ hidden in the dining room up high where his eyes would not have normally caught it.

Then he sees Hannibal’s coat on the coat hanger. It can’t be that easy, he thinks. Surely it isn’t there. He gets up silently to check.

It is exactly that easy. He reaches in and pulls out his phone. He has missed calls from Jack, a few from Alana, whom he assumes was roped in by Jack. Six unread text messages. He does not check any of them. He types a single text:

[Recipient: Jack Crawford]

[Message: sent]

              (1:23am)

                          LECTER IS AN ALPHA. IS THE RIPPER.

He did not hear him approach. When he turns around he can see that Lecter knows, can see a sadness in his face. The alpha’s hand strokes his cheek, before it tangles in his hair to hold his head still. The knife flashes in the corner of his eye and then he feels it in his gut. Hannibal’s hand jerks down. He’s gutting him alive.

“Remarkable boy,” he breathes, pulling Will closer so that he can collapse onto him. The omega’s hands go to clutch at his stomach as he bleeds out onto the tile. He’s making small sounds of pain, of struggle, trying to suck in air at the same time and doing a bad job of it. “Shh. It’s okay. Calm down. You’re in shock now. Don’t fight—it isn’t that bad. Like stepping into a warm bath.”

Will is clutching at his gaping stomach, clutching at Hannibal’s shirt. It’s all he can do to not fall forward completely. The alpha takes some of the burden when he pulls the knife out and embraces Will fully. Hands covered in blood stroke his hair. “I was planning on there being more time.”

Will tries, trembling, to do something more than bleed on Hannibal’s shoes. One hand leaves his abdomen and blood spills out at a faster speed, and he whimpers at the feeling of his stomach tearing.

He pulls the gun out from where it was hidden in his waistband, and shoots Lecter in the stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ maybe now hannibal can finally be taken to baby prison, for babies. 
> 
> if there's errors im sorry. i don't have anyone beta'ing this so i reread it and let it stew for a while, but it is at the end of the day just me & i can miss things. please leave feedback so i know you like it/want to read more. ]


	3. infinity bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SOMEBODY is moody and gets a good scolding.

Jack is the first one inside the house. He feels distant and numb except for the deep, pitted sense of dread in his stomach. He rounds the corner into the kitchen and sees Lecter sitting on the floor, holding an unconscious Will Graham in his arms. He has his hands pressed to Will’s hands, keeping some of the blood in his stomach. The room is thick with the smell of copper, so much so that the scent of omega and alpha is mostly masked, even as Lecter’s pheromones spike in response to an intruder.

It’s a lot of blood. It becomes clear, with Will’s chest rising faint and slow, that if it were all his he would be dead. That’s when he sees Lecter’s been shot, and won’t be getting up anytime soon.

“Hello, Jack,” the alpha says calmly. “No need to call an ambulance. I’ve already phoned in.”

There’s the distant sound of a siren. He tilts his head and says, “Oh, that would be them now.”

It’s all Jack can do to not shoot him again.

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter—you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Will Graham—“

“—Assault with a deadly weapon,” he corrects.

“—and, for the murders of the Chesapeake Ripper victims. You have the right to remain _silent_. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?“

At this point the emergency response team has entered the house. They stand, blanched for a moment as they look at the scene that greets them. Hannibal stares back. _It’s as if they’ve never seen blood before_.

They don’t move until he waves them closer, and then they stutter into action.

“Dr. Lecter, do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

“Please keep pressure on the wound. He’s lost a lot of blood. Take care of him first.”

It’s not until Will is out of the room and in a stretcher that Jack can get his attention. He’s still got the gun on him as two ERTs work to get him ready to be transported. “This is the clearest moment of our friendship,” he says.

“I understand my rights as they have been read to me, Agent Crawford. Your bloodhound has bayed, the Ripper found. You owe a great deal to Will. If it hadn’t been for him, you might have never caught your killer.”

“He caught **_you_**. I know what I owe Will, you don’t need to tell me that.”

“Do you?” Hannibal watches his face for a second, and then there is the smallest smirk that cracks over his features as he connects the dots. “Ahh, you do. He told you his status.”

“Shut your mouth, or for the love of god, I will shoot you a second—“

“—Agent Crawford,” one of the doctors working on Lecter interrupts nervously, “the ambulance just arrived; we’ve got to move Dr. Lecter now.”

It's Lecter who answers, as if he isn't being put under arrest. “Just arrived? Has Will not left yet?”

“We…” There’s a tense silence. The medics should move back, but they don’t. “We thought it best to move you two separately…”

The growl starts before the medic finishes his sentence. It takes about three seconds for the transformation from _man-with-gunshot-wound_ to _outraged-alpha_ to take hold. In reality, Hannibal knows they will separate them, but the biological response to it can't be helped, even if he _really really_ wanted to, which he doesn't. Lecter breaks an ERT’s neck and sinks his teeth into another’s face before someone gets a syringe in him. His mouth is stained red and he glares while still biting down into the young medic’s cheek. The sedative works better than a bullet would, but Jack does get one in his shoulder anyway. It makes him feel a little better.

They try to contain the story, but it explodes almost immediately. Freddie Lounds manages to sneak into the hospital room where Graham is being held and runs a picture of him, unconscious, the sheets and bandages pulled back to fully see the state Lecter left him in. She runs that with the headline, “A MATCH MADE IN HELL: THE RIPPER AND HIS OMEGA FBI AGENT.” She photoshops the bondmark a little to make it more noticeable, but it really isn't needed. The thing is bright red and puffy. 

Her article creates problems not only in that it reveals the respected Dr. Hannibal Lecter of high society to be the Ripper, but also as an _alpha_ , caught by an _omega_ fbi agent. Any unconfirmed insinuations that she could make followed suite.

It was bad enough that Lecter had been working with the FBI closely, but he had been working as a psychiatric consultant with an FBI special agent who now turns out to be an _omega_. He was even the agent’s psychiatrist, on paper.

People are outraged. How could the FBI allow an omega to be put in so much danger? How could they allow such a dangerous alpha to get close to an omega like Will Graham, who had already showed signs of being unstable? Lounds points out that she has repeatedly reported on Graham’s decreasing stability in the months leading up to this development. She’s talking about the time she called Will Graham insane. Publically. To thousands of avid fans.

When Alana comes in gently and shows him the article, she tells him that it looks worse than it is. The beta is very gentle about it. Will is not gentle. She shows him the article on her phone and he wants to throw it against the wall. His hands are shaking when she takes it back from him. Her voice is light even with the warning in it. “Calm down, Will, it’s okay.” After a minute he’s able to loosen his jaw enough to talk.

“He’s alive?”

“He’s being sedated. They’re keeping him in intensive care, so that he’s isolated.” Her voice tells him she isn’t happy about that. She thinks they should be in separate buildings.

“You look flushed. Have you been yelling?”

“Screaming is more like it.”

The morphine is keeping him drowsy and he knows he’ll drift back into unconsciousness soon. The clock on the wall is directly in front of him, and he knows why it’s there: to say that time is passing. This will pass. He also knows that it won’t, not for him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were…” Alana stops herself, because it dips slightly into omega prejudice. She wants to protect him, but that’s done now. She wants to have protected him successfully and to have avoided this. “It makes so much sense now. The hallucinations, the instability—it was a biological response to…” To having an eligible alpha _knot_ nearby. Will doesn’t need her to finish the sentence to know what everyone thinks now.

“This isn’t your fault,” he says quietly.

“It’s someone’s fault, Will. I was so _blind_. I recommended Hannibal to Jack. I had no idea.”

“He’s very good at hiding. He’s done it _a long time_. I didn’t know until seconds before—“ It’s hard to talk about with her, because at one point he had hoped they could have had something. Will swallows. “—before it was too late.”

Alana looks at the bondmark on his neck and then takes his hand.

“Did he hurt anyone?” Will asks.

“We can talk about it when you feel better.”

Will knows that means she’s trying to protect him, and he’ll have to ask Jack. Her answer isn’t ‘no’ so one person probably died, at least.

“Will, did anyone know your status? Did Jack know?” Will stares hard at the clock.

“No one knew.”

“Will. The FBI should have never pushed you, regardless of your gender, but with the fact that you were an unbonded omega chasing an unbonded alpha serial killer, it’s—“

“No one knew. I told Jack I was a beta.” That is not true. Jack is the only one that did know, but he doesn’t deserve to be blamed for this. Will decides that right then and there. Alana is silent for a few minutes, just stroking her fingers down his hand and wrist.

“How do you feel? Are you okay, Will?”

He isn’t okay. He feels oversensitive to the lights, to the scents, and is aware that this is probably due to the fact that he is still going through heat—and now he’ll have to go through it alone. Emotionally he feels numb, hollowed out, and is only aware of the prickling of tears in his eyes distantly. This might be depersonalization. It sort of feels like he’s separated from himself, like this can’t be real.

A part of him feels cut apart, like someone took a switchblade and carved a valley in his chest. It occurs to him that this is the separation from his alpha. The agent knows this will get worse, but how worse is hard to tell. 

Will looks at Alana and sees her heart break as she looks back. He tries to smile and it probably looks pitiful. He feels pitiful. Tears start to well up in his eyes and he says, “I—ah. I don’t know how I feel.”

Alana sits down on the edge of the hospital bed and carefully wraps her arms around him. She holds his head and lets him cry silently into her shoulder, and Will falls back asleep.

\----------------

Hannibal wakes up chained to the metal bedframe. There are armed officers sitting outside his door. He feels from far away the wave of anger at not having his omega with him, and suppresses it in favor for proceeding with as much logic as is possible.

He reads the visible information on his charts, and takes a glance at the IV drip. They are giving him Morphine for pain and Lorazepam for what he assumes to be behavior control. He’s also on antibiotics. These doses would be enough for a beta, and even as an alpha his senses were dulled, but it was not anywhere near enough to stop him. Almost insulting, really.

He hears the click of high heels first. There is some heated discussion outside before Alana Bloom comes in, her face steeled for battle, eyes red from crying. She is accompanied by both guards, who stand silently by the door. They make no motion to leave them in private. Alana shifts somewhat awkwardly before starting. She stands a good few meters away.

He can smell Will Graham on her even at that distance.

“Eight years. Since I was your _student_ , Hannibal. You’ve lied to me.”

“I believe the phrase is innocent until proven guilty.”

“Don’t you _dare_. You were killing the entire time. I was on the Ripper case! I shared information with you! I trusted you! I ate dinner at your—“ She cuts herself off and turns her head, evidently still unsettled by that topic. “I suggested you to Jack Crawford, I vouched for you—I told Will he was _safe_ with you! And now, he may never be okay again!”

He considers through this that he could dip into his mind palace and stop the conversation now, but he will not do that. He will not disrespect Alana that way. It is a one-time courtesy, for their history: if she is to speak to him like this again he will not extend the same pardon.

“I had hoped when the truth revealed itself, we would be further separated, and you would not have to face what you are now. I am—sorry—that things had to happen the way they did.”

“But you’re not sorry they happened,” Alana responds. There’s a bitter laugh in her voice that doesn’t quite escape.

“I am not.”

“You are unbelievable, Hannibal! You should at least be sorry for what you’ve done to Will. I saw the bondmark. I don’t know what to think. I do know that I am going to do everything I can to keep him safe from you **_now_**.”

There’s an irritated smirk at that—at the audacity to have them separated, as if that was what was best. He is Will Graham’s alpha—he knows what is best for him. Alana will never understand; she would take Will in and attempt to fix him, and when she saw the same darkness Hannibal accepted, cultivated, she would condemn him. Perhaps now his cruelty gets the best of him. Maroon eyes are an empty, dark abyss as they stare her down.

“I wish you the very best of luck in that, Alana.”

She leaves enraged, disappointed, and hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by the wonderful Myrtilla, who put up with a lot of my quirks and long periods of absence. they were a great help in giving me opinions and bouncing ideas off of, as well as running through my grammar and struggling through the odd writing style i have going on for this fic. thank you so much, M!!!


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